A Hunter's Journal

Deer hunting season comes but once a year and provides real Americans with the chance to get in touch with their inner hunter-gatherers and bond with those souls everywhere who respond to the call of the wild. Those of us on the liberal fringes of society never experience this, because so many of us are vegans or PETA members or anti-gun or too bookish. Whatever it is, there is a huge chasm separating us. So we provide here a hunter's diary that we believe will bridge this gap by showing how the pursuit of deer with guns has shaped America and made American men the most independent and strong in the world. We liberals should learn much from this so that we, too, can be strong and independent.

It’s cold, it’s wet, and I can’t feel my toes. God, I love hunting. . . . Hope I don’t fall out of my deer stand again this year.

It’s the fresh air, the call of the wild, the guys, the guns, the bad jokes, peeing outdoors. I even like the planning. Where do we stay? Who’s buying the food? The booze? Who will cook and clean up? Women aren’t there to help with these things. Men have to do it all, and that’s what hunting is all about – strong, independent men bonding so the species survives for another generation.

I’m in my deer stand. Nothing can see me. Not any deer. Not any hunters. But bullets whiz by. What are they shooting at? I don’t see anyone, anything. Is there a deer out there? Wait a second . . . is that a deer? I shoot. I listen . . . I hear a moo. . . .

Wow, my feet are cold. Too bad about Joe. I miss him this year. Maybe he’ll be walking without pain next year. I bet Joe could have climbed up into the stand this year. I think he didn’t want to. I miss him. I miss just sitting here with our guns and cold feet. Maybe a little whiskey. Listening to the bullets whiz by. . .

Lunch time! Finally! Warm up my feet and fingers. Nothing like a couple burgers and fries. Comfort food. Whoa - hit the deck! Who’s shooting at this cabin? God, they hit the TV - damn, I wanted to watch some porn tonight. Wonder what they’re shooting at out there.

Back in my stand, still really cold. I see something move - I shoot. What is it? Dunno, but I probably missed. I’m such a bad shot!

Damn, if I don’t get something this year, I’ll never hear the end of it. Not after falling out of my stand last year and pulling Joe down with me. It really wasn’t my fault. Joe brought the whiskey up there and I was just standing up to piss over the edge when a couple of bullets whizzed by awfully close to me. They surprised me - anyone could have lost their balance. So I grabbed Joe.

Anyway, I don’t think the fall is what really hurt Joe so it’s not really my fault. I think that stray bullet that came out of nowhere and hit him in the leg while we were driving to the hospital is why his leg still hurts today. Can you imagine that? Driving down a county road and a bullet hits a passenger in the leg. A big black SUV doesn’t look anything like a deer . . . What are hunters thinking?

I’m feeling my toes again. That’s a good sign - it means I'm really alive! It's not like sitting in the office, falling asleep . . . Wait . . . I see something moving over there. I aim, squeeze the trigger slowly. Then a second shot. Did I hit it? Probably not. Damn! I thought for sure this was my year to get a dear, not a cow like last year. I tell you, if you shoot a cow and then fall out of your blind and break your friend’s leg - well, guys being guys, they won’t let you forget. I’ve heard jokes for a year.

Dinnertime. No one got a deer. Got a few shots off but no one is sure at what. But so what? What is important is that we are men. We are bonding, we are renewed, we are in touch with all the men of generations past who, like us, did what they had to do to ensure the species survived. And on our own, without women . . .

We’re eating steaks and drinking good whiskey. Another day has passed and the species has survived. But too bad about the TV. Plus our truck took a few bullets - one rear window is out and a couple holes in the side panel - nothing major, though.

But next year . . . we have to start planning . . . where should we go . . . where is the best hunting?